The Wisplight Legionary's Real World Survival Guide
by ink-and-song
Summary: The Wisplight Legion's least competent spiritmaster didn't plan to end up on Earth. NPC's Outremus and Doria didn't either, but the Lord of Illusion certainly did. Nobody's sure why the Asmodian is involved, but she's not leaving. ...None of them are. In which a group of unlikely misfits break laws, make friends, and try to find their way back home. The earthlings are horrified.
1. Explanations are in Order

Prologue.

_Somewhere in California, USA_

_Yesterday morning._

* * *

"So you're telling me you're _wizards _from another world," Investigator Blakely said dryly. Two usually-immortal researchers, one glorified administrator, and a lesser god nodded. Most of them were neutralized in some way, shape, or form—be it restrained, stuck, or otherwise incapacitated. One of the researchers was dangling from the ceiling, held aloft by suspenders that were working in conjunction with a pair of plaid shorts.

"While technically incorrect, the gist of the matter ought to be self-evident." Ordinarily, the lesser god possessed the social charm and grace of a slighted honey badger, and he made no effort to begin improvement now.

Experience spared the investigator intimidation which may or may not have actually been warranted as she stared down at the mess of serial law offenders sprawled before her. "I'm guessing that's why I've got several reports that one of you was riding a bona fide dinosaur down the interstate like it was a motorcycle." She said this with a face that was painstakingly blank, except for being scrunched up around the edges, as if she had thought about this at length and come to the grand decision to act as if it wasn't _that _unusual, for the sake of her continued sanity.

"That may be true, but they are practically one and the same," the administrator rebutted as the shugo language potion helpfully defined "motorcycle" as being a term synonymous with "airspike". "We made sure to follow the corresponding traffic codes."

"Destruction of Stonehenge?"

"The destruction of Stonehenge was a minor inconvenience," said the lesser god. "It's not our fault that you Earthlings are incapable of building minimally stable transdimensional rift foci. It would have exploded on its own eventually."

"And what about the wedding?"

One of the two daevas, the one hanging from the ceiling, perked up at the idea. The heavy-duty fan he was attached to spun gently.

"There was a wedding?"

"Technically, there was a wedding _attempt_," the inspector corrected. "As well as a hospital bombing, the destruction of the most public and private property I've seen in my career, unlawful possession of a wide assortment of weapons, multiple counts of breaking and entering, breaking and entering into a federally restricted area, physical assault, insider trading, loitering, arson, a yacht hijacking, impersonation of a federal officer, and," Blakely paused to take a breath. "-illegal entry into the country. For starters."

"I rather liked the yacht," the glorified administrator said sadly.

"And I didn't use actual bombs that time," the daeva on the ceiling immediately clarified as the fan spun counter-clockwise.

The glorified administrator and the one remaining soldier were the only ones who looked remotely concerned about their predicament.

"I know it might look...bad," the daeva on the floor impersonating FBI officer Jacqueline Daniels began, "-but it was mostly an accident. We can let bygones be bygones, right? No harm, no foul?"

That was precisely the wrong thing to say, because there was in fact much harm, much foul.

"That's not for me to decide," the inspector replied flatly. "All you can do is pray that you get deported instead of extradited."

The administrator coughed.

"Well, you see," he said, "-that may be a bit of a problem…"


	2. In Which Daeva makes some Bad Decisions

Wet, smelly tickly grass pressed against the side of his face. At least, Irideon guessed that it was wet and tickly, because his face was too numb to actually feel it and he couldn't smell anything past the blood coming out of his nose and mouth to verify that it stunk. Green waves rose and fell all around, rolling with no discernible pattern or rhythm. Distantly, he thought he heard shrieking, but it was hard to tell with the ringing in his ears that sounded suspiciously like a Mau opera number.

"Wath hpapnede? Oimgsoh, is he koay?"

A pink and yellow blob bent over him, frantically blathering some nonsense and flailing her arms while pointing. She looked ridiculous.

"I'll be back!" Rid mouthed with a grin. He wasn't in running condition, per say; he didn't expect to be that lucky. Clearly, he'd just had a very engaging battle with a lawn that hadn't ended very well for his side. All the things that were supposed to be on the inside were probably now on the outside, and he had a pretty solid suspicion that his bones were not in their right places.

That said, there was also the small perk that he was a daeva. It had been several months since he'd last perished in a fall, but living in a world where jumping off cliffs was a thrice-daily occurrence meant that death-by-gravity was fairly routine, mortifying though it was.

"...mit, idnd't evne see ihm jupm…"

Another blob joined the first, this one accompanied by colored lights and some background static outside of his personal orbit. It was all meshing together in one big, water-colory, tingly mess. Something pressed against his face. An animal wailed, and he made a mental note to check it out later. New animals were always exciting.

All this fuss, he thought, vaguely aware that the yellow people were doing some things and that he wasn't in the same place he was a minute ago. There was someone standing next to him, and he gave them the biggest smile the noisy thingamajig on his face would allow.

"Don't worry," he said, because this was very important. "I'm gonna die in a minute."

If he got a reply, he didn't know, though all he could hear of his own words was "Mmpfh rmth prrprr prr."

"I'll just come back again," he continued. Talking was difficult-his letters kept slipping all up, down, and sideways. "Daevas do that you know. Haven't you ever seen one of us before? Flappy flappy?" When they ignored him, he tried again, to clarify, but his words refused to orient themselves, like a frustrating collection of wall hangings.

Everything went back to being gray and buzzy and spinning.

And then he woke up.

x.x.x

The walls were white. Maybe off white. And something was beeping demandingly.

The ceiling was off-white too.

It took him a couple tries to wake up for good. As easy as peeling back his eyelids and making them stay there sounded, it wasn't as simple in practice. His first instinct had tried to scream "SORCERER!", but his instinct had only managed a half-hearted "srzrr?" before his eyelids failed him and left him dead to the world and vulnerable to potentially life-threatening stimuli.

The fuzzies would not get the better of him a second time. He blinked hard twice, as if to spite them. Shame on the fuzzies. Shame.

At least, he liked to think so. Instead of finding himself making excuses to a weary faced soul healer, he lay reclined on a wall-colored bed in a room roughly the same size as his studio, feeling very much like he had been on the losing end of a fight with a small planet. Which he, in fact, had been. Or so it seemed.

Recollection of nearly getting stampeded by Balaur rudely returned. That much was nothing new, in fact, he half suspected that his brain was just reusing the same memory over and over to conserve space every time it happened. The next thing that came back was a vague memory of funny-looking rift. Admittedly, also not new; he jumped through sketchy rifts all the time. Since it wasn't always safe to stand near rifts, he had jumped off whatever high surface the thing had deposited him on, and opened his wings to glide down…

...and then he was an Elyos-shaped smudge on the world below.

Aha.

The determined beeping beeped with newfound energy as his sluggish mind clicked into gear. In a matter of moments he had whipped out his mental notebook and taken down a series of charts and additional observations.

He had not died. (see prior notes)

The state of his injuries had been mortal or near-mortal. Without the immediate intervention of a healer, he would have died. (see prior notes again)

The idiot blobs had not healed him. By the state of their worry, they would have if they could have. Conclusion: They were incapable of healing. Another party is responsible.

(Who had kept him alive?)

4\. Ow all over. Limited motor response. (Finger wiggle: yes. Arm lift: no.) Most of the damage sustained during the crash-and-fall still present. Conclusion: The healer was unskilled. Not any ally he was familiar with. A human, likely. Or a group of humans. Or someone who intended to keep him alive but incapacitated.

The more he thought about this possibility, the more he wanted to ignore it. Were that the case, he probably wasn't dealing the Balaur or the Dragonbound- they were more of the in-your-face type of captors. The Asmodians preferred to lock people in dungeons. He made a valiant effort to frown.

His prison- until he could leave, he was calling it a prison- was nearly devoid of furniture and had a only a single door and no windows. The ceiling was low and the room was too narrow for him to unfurl his wings if he wanted or needed to. Roughly a quarter of the available space was occupied by machinery. Which was attached to him, in a way that looked overly complicated and quite serious. Looking down, he could see several tubes and needles taped into his arms, which were in turn strapped to the frame of the bed. His lilac uniform was gone; someone had swapped it out for a pillow-casey monstrosity that looked like it had been cut out of an old bedsheet.

This smelled like the work of lepharists. They were probably trying to suck the divinity out of him or something. And they had taken his hat.

They'd messed with the wrong daeva.

With a mighty heave, he concentrated the strength of all his magely muscle on fighting the coarse fabric bonds. He might be only a clothie, but he was a daeva and dragdangit if he was going to let them use him for whatever sinister, twisted goals they had.

When the restraints failed to give, he decided to give up on that plan of action and prepared to blow them up instead.

He threw open his fists, ready for freedom. The straps were met with a distinct lack of a kablooey.

Rid frowned again and repeated his effort, but his hands failed to produce even the most feeble spark or erosion. Worse things had happened. He must be having an off day.

Since there was no immediate threat, he needed to make use of his time to figure out why his magic had gone and left him, and how he could get it back. If he could do that, then he could be out of here and back home before they had a chance to do anything stupid. Like force him to do the shugo shuffle. Or drain him of his divinity and use it to develop artificial ascension and create an army of doom that would kill all his friends.

In time with this thought, a shadow darkened the doorway.

"You...aren't supposed to be awake yet."

Rid's many embarrassing experiences as a daeva told him that whenever someone said something along the lines of "blah blah blah not supposed to be awake yet", it was usually very bad.

A round Elyos, human, male and quite ugly, stared back at him from the room's doorway. His nails were clean and short, and he didn't look like he had run more than ten consecutive meters a single day in his life. The stout man would be easy to flatten under normal circumstances. He wielded a clipboard and wore a style of clothing unlike any Rid had ever seen.

It was criminally hideous.

If he was feeling up to it, Rid figured he could take that hooked metal pole next to his bed and thwack the man over the head with it. He hadn't had any experience with melee weapons since his childhood, but he'd seen plenty of dumber-than-rocks gladiators and templars cleave through each other's skulls without too much trouble. He could probably wing it. It didn't look that hard-they all seemed to aim straight for the top of the head, then wham, their poor victim's skull was split like a meon. Likely, he wouldn't even need to hit that hard-just enough to take the man out of a fight for an hour or so.

"...to write some things down and look at your vitals, okay? Just relax and go back to sleep."

The man had gotten close, close enough to touch. He was close enough to clobber into oblivion if only Rid could move his arms…

The man moved out of reach again, scribbling on his clipboard. A shiny tag on his coat displayed a line of unfamiliar runes. Rid hadn't realized he had said something to the man until he looked up, wearing a vaguely surprised expression.

"Don't try to talk too much. I'll be done in a minute. Just go back to sleep, okay?" The man had a quiet, professional voice. He still seemed evil and conniving.

"Who are you? " Rid asked, feeling like it was the question he had asked before.

"You're in the hospital," he said, "But don't worry about that, just rest. It's a miracle you're alive."

Rid scoffed. "Some miracle. Thanks for that, by the way. I had it handled, you know." Whatever a "hospital" was, it didn't seem like any kind of thing he knew. "You're an awful healer."

"You've mellowed out," the stranger said with a chuckle as he straightened his papers. Rid didn't correct him, or tell him his meon plans. Let the enemy underestimate him. Mellow indeed.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Rid nodded at the strange question.

The stranger creased his brows and wrote something else down, muttering something that sounded like "disathrea" as he did so. Rid glared at him with his best not going to sleep expression yet. The stranger was not the only one with questions. Best get started.

"Who are you? Where am I? What do you want with me? Can I have my stuff back? What did you do with my hat?"

All standard questions to ask a new captor. The man, however, just looked dismissive.

"Don't try to talk. You were brought in with some pretty bad fall injuries. You'll need all that energy for recovery. You'll be able to talk later. Sound good?"

No, it did not sound good. Everything about the "hospital" and the Elyos in it still seemed very off, as if all the furniture in the room had been shifted three inches to the left. And he was missing his hat.

The poorly-dressed stranger finished writing things down and came close to the bedside again. Rid gave up the idea of clobbering him. It had been wishful thinking anyway. There was a strange expression on the man's face.

"You've improved a lot since just yesterday," the man said, now looking at something else on the noisy machine.

Improved? Since yesterday? Rid still felt like a daeva pancake. However, natural healing should have him feeling at least fifty percent better by now. Soul sickness crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the idea. For that, he had to die first, and he had rather spectacularly failed to do such a thing. Thus, his sudden lack of magical ability was a peculiar and very alarming problem.

Irideon bolted upright, breathing heavily. A stale taste filled his mouth. The beeping thing picked up speed again. He was alert, but oddly groggy. The ugly man was nowhere to be seen, and the room was dimmer than he remembered.

First, he assumed that he must have eaten another bag of dimensional fragments, because there was no other explanation for randomly getting thrown into parallels and shadow parallels without using his own magic. The second conclusion that followed shortly after was that maybe he hadn't accidentally eaten dimensional fragments, but guestbloom fertilizer, and this was all one toxin-induced hallucination. Thirdly, he considered the possibility that maybe he had actually vanished, and this was what the end looked like.

It was only after he realized that most of the tube things and metal stands and equipments were gone, the room was darker than before, and his arms and legs were free that he entertained the possibility that he had simply fallen asleep.

He'd always hated that, blacking out and then waking up feeling like he'd only blinked. It always made him incredibly confused, though, he noted, his head felt much clearer now than before. Actually, aside from a couple of aches and pains here and there, he almost felt normal.

Having a much better opinion about his situation, he swung his legs up over the edge of the bed and- oops nope bad idea bad idea hello, strangely scented floor.

He groaned from his new position, his cheek smushed on the cold, bizarre flooring. It wasn't stone, and it wasn't wood, but it wasn't carpet either. It was as smooth as fine tile, but it was also very uncomfortable. And a little bit grippy.

How many times was he going to end up face flat on the ground before this was over? He didn't particularly mind, since he and grounds tended to be on fairly good terms with each other, but he was a flying species, not a tunneling one. Though his luck seemed determined to suggest otherwise.

Once the throbbing pains from his bruises had subsided enough, he picked up his head and surveyed his surroundings from his new vantage point. A white bag made out of yet another strange material slumped near the bed, close to his elbow. With a series of "nyerk"s, he pushed himself up so that he was half-sitting and pulled the bag closer.

Lilac glinted at him from within, and his breath caught.

Was it really-?!

It was!

He pulled his beloved legion tunic from the bag, holding the torn, bloodstained garment aloft for his admiration. It was cut in half (some idiot didn't know how to undo buttons) but thanks to his mandatory sewing courses, he could probably fix it up to wearability. Afraid to believe his luck, he pulled each piece of his uniform (and his hat!) out of the bag. Even his earrings were there, carefully stored in clear, smooth pouches that were sealed for safekeeping. At the very bottom was a small, iridescent wood box, which he immediately pounced upon and tore into with delight.

Everything in his cube was there, exactly as it he had left it. He rummaged through the enchanted space, pulling out a corked vial filled with a purple liquid.

He had been planning on selling the recovery potions when he could fetch a higher price, but desperate times meant desperate bank accounts. Without hesitation, he downed the potion in a matter of gulps, dropped the empty bottle back into his cube, and reached for another one, which he finished just as quickly.

After the second potion, he felt markedly better. He licked his lips at the zeldt's slimy, woody-tasting residue and let the healing brew run its course while he searched for a teleport scroll that would take him back home.

Fire-proofing scroll, wind-proofing scroll, anti-shock scroll, greater running scroll, casting-in-the-face-of-danger scroll, Heiron-helper-summoning-scroll and a nondescript note written on a scrap of egrasi paper-

-Rid's Shopping List-

He unrolled it with some apprehension. Most of the listed items were job essentials, boring notes like "exchange old odella", "pick up food for Pooka", "scam shugo robot for new unicorn", and "replace gloves".

Then he reached the bottom.

VERY IMPORTANT- DO NOT FORGET TO PICK UP PORT SCROLLS AGAIN

The note was circled several times, with no less than five large arrows pointing to it, and enormous squiggle marks all around.

...oops.

Having no scrolls and no spells to get home was a disturbing thought, so he ignored it. There were other less important things in need of immediate address. Since he'd cleaned out his cube and haphazardly dumped half of it in the warehouse- no regrets, he needed the hat space- he had a limited and very conspicuous wardrobe (festive toga and the peasant robes) to choose from. Neither would offer very good protection, so he slipped the toga over his head, because it was quicker to put on than the peasant robes, which boasted leggings, a shirt, vest, boots, overskirt, gloves, pauldrons, socks, belt, several buttons, and a tie that needed pinning, which was hard.

Footsteps thumped down the hallway outside of the room. The slack-slack-pitter of captors marching past and rolling carts with squeaking wheels gradually faded.

Now for the next thing. Commence operation: escape the complex.


	3. In Which a Crate Goes Missing

Kaisinel's Agent was having a long day.

"Outremus, Legionary Irideon has not completed any assignments, submitted any . reports, failed any missions, or appeared at any obelisk for over three days now. The rest of the legion has started to get worried, and frankly, so have I."

Outremus was not new to these kinds of announcements. For a Brigade General, Versetti worried too much. Unlike Outremus, who was dealing with two- _two! _lost shipments of aether generator supplies, and had perfectly justified reason to be concerned.

"I'm sure he's fine, Versetti," he said, dismissing the Wisplight commander's concern with a small wave. "You know him. He gets lost in Gelkmaros every other week. He'll turn up in a few days."

Versetti looked less than convinced.

"But I didn't send him to Gelkmaros, Outremus. I sent him to deliver a message to the Outpost and there's been no sign of him since. I would have guessed that he'd run into trouble, but the soul healer hasn't seen him either. Which is why I'm worried." Versetti wasn't soft, but he knew each one of his Wisplights inside and out, as did Outremus and, to an unknown extent, the enigmatic Empyrean Lord himself. To outsiders, they were strange, but there was an unmistakable camaraderie between them. Outremus blamed the legion's penchant for being an oddball magnet.

"He isn't the most...aware of his surroundings, you know," Versetti continued. "If he had been captured-,"

"Irideon gets himself out of trouble more frequently than the rest of us can get into it," Outremus cut in coolly. "He is a skilled spiritmaster, and reasonably well equipped. He can handle himself. Have you seen any crates of generator supplies?"

"Skilled, yes" Versetti countered, utterly ignoring his question, much to Outremus's frustration. "-but incompetent. I will be sending out a small search unit just in case. To make sure he hasn't been-,"

"Have some faith in your subordinates, Versetti. When has Irideon ever failed you?"

The Brigade General gave him a flat look. Outremus winced.

"Well, I mean-,"

"I'm sure word of your spiritmaster's...exploits has reached you and beyond, if the Empyrean Lord's newfound interest in transdimensional experimentation is anything to go by. I hear that Lord Kaisinel was looking for volunteers recently to line up so he could study what happens when they _eat an entire bag of dimensional fragments_. I couldn't imagine where he might have gotten the inspiration, Outremus. My investigators are thoroughly baffled."

So Outremus's attempts to corral that particular piece of gossip-fodder had been in vain, after all. He made a conscious effort to avoid shifting uncomfortably, but Versetti wasn't done.

"You're aware of Plinius's accident last week? We just got him back to normal after he drank one of those hasia potions. That was two days ago, and he still thinks he's a ribbit. He has to have someone watching him at all times to make sure he doesn't start chasing the butterflies around the fortress again and eating them."

"Really?" Outremus asked, eyebrows shooting up. "I hadn't noticed a difference." He'd heard about Irideon's hasia potion fiasco, of course, but Plinius had seemed no more or less strange than usual once the transformation had worn off.

"With all due respect, 'Remus, do I need to delve into _last month_'s adventures as well?"

Outremus sighed.

"You've made your point," Kaisinel's Agent relented. "Authorize a small group of volunteers as you see fit. I will post an appropriate bounty for his retrieval. I will make sure," he said loudly as Versetti opened his mouth, "-to specify alive, this time."

The Wisplight general smiled. "I'm sure he will appreciate it. Thank you for your support, Outremus. Hopefully he will be returned to his duties shortly."

"Feel free to assign a replacement in the meantime. Despite his misadventures, he does have his own way of contributing here, and there may be a researcher or two around who could help pick up the slack. Good luck."

Versetti smiled as he turned to leave, though it looked to be more of a grimace. "'Rem, if we had any kind of luck, we wouldn't need it."

"Also, about those generator-"

"Check with Yulia if she's seen your shipment. Faith and arms."

—

Operation Great Escape was easier said than done.

Less than five minutes after sneaking out of the confines of the White Room, Rid had nearly been bashed by a bed, trampled by a trolley, and discovered by a dagg with a little yellow shirt. It was a miracle that he hadn't been caught yet, bouncing from hiding place to hiding place with such sophisticated tactics as hide-under-bed and gotta-run-fast and hoping for the best as he was.

He slunk away from the bed he had hidden behind, body low, and trotted quickly across the hall to a dark, open doorway. Feeling very much like an assassin, he darted inside and pressed himself against the wall to the best of his ability. When he put on his festive outfit, he'd failed to take the decorative wings into account. They were wide and not really built for sneaking and scurrying, and kept bumping into things. They made a soft sweeping sound as they brushed against the wallpaper.

"Hush, you," he muttered, though the wings didn't listen. A quick glance into the hallway showed the white-coated back of an enemy walking briskly away.

Judging by the coats and the scholarly way the inhabitants carried themselves, he assumed he was in a research institution. A laboratory, probably, though the question of whose left him quite baffled. It didn't have the facilities he would have expected from a lepharist ascension lab. The personnel were alert, but preoccupied and bludgeonably unvigilant. Also, he had yet to come across a single guard or floating-eyeball patrol. He couldn't decide if that was comforting, or unsettling.

And, he noticed, this room had a window. His own reflection peered back at him. He left the light turned off and laid a hand on the cool glass panel. Leaning in close, his barely-visible reflection gave way to a rising dawn in the distance. Aside from the star's yellow-orange light, it was gray outside.

His reflection blinked at him. The outside wasn't brown, like the barren wastelands of Angrief, or violet like the drana fields. It was gray, like someone had built an entire city out of stone. Splotches of color were clustered around-a white building here, a burgundy wall there, a rolling blue thing and a bright, monstrous painting bigger than any he had ever seen-but they all blended humbly into the atmosphere as if they belonged to something bigger. High, square buildings as tall as spires but much uglier jutted out from the stone beyond the glass. Lights winked on and off in the windows, a thousand blinking rectangular eyes in perfect rows and columns. Below, a vast gray space sat, filled with rows and rows and rows of little colored lumps, lined up like a presentation of soldiers.

He thought he would see more plant life at the very least-he wouldn't exactly be lying if he said he had been expecting to see the lush greens and squawks of the Poya Jungle. Or vast deserts. Or even a lava field. Even the architecture was completely different from Elysea, Asmodae, or even the ruins of the ancient civilizations of Balaurea. The sheer orderliness of the roads and structures was breathtaking in its own right.

Quick pattering and shouting came from the hall, fast rolling and urgent voices barking muffled sentences drifting into the room. Rid stiffened-his time for lollygagging was up. When he pried at the glass with his fingers, it refused to give. Pulling out his cube, he hunted for something he could use to smash the barrier. He mostly had hats. They were generally not great smashing material.

After accidentally grabbing a few carapaces and stinking laupede legs, he found a much welcomed, decidedly heavy nanyu log. Hefting it up to the window, he looked for a good place to strike. He swung the log back once, twice, and-

"Hey! What are you doing?!"

The log hit the window with a solid thwack as it struck the metal that bisected the glass and then a boing as it bounced off, nearly hitting Rid on the journey backwards. It flew out of his grip and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of another ugly-clad stranger.

And that was his cue to book it.

Surprisingly for a spiritmaster, Rid was very good at running away.

While mages weren't known for being the fittest and strongest of classes, what the spiritmaster lacked in musculature he made up for in sheer cowardice and creative applications for decaying exoskeletons. He took a handful of said carcasses and flung them at the stranger, who screeched and threw her hands up as she well should have. While she was otherwise occupied (he would shriek if someone threw laupede legs at him, too) he slipped around her and took off down the corridor like an overmatched assassin. A chorus of "stop!"s and "hey you!"s sounded the moment he set foot outside of the room.

"No running in the halls!"

"Slow down!"

"Visiting hours are over!"

He ignored all of them and continued, looking for a staircase, a hoverstone, an open window, anything that could get him out of the building and somewhere where there were better hiding places and possibly a rift back. Corner after corner whipped past, and the labyrinthine structure just seemed to get bigger and more confusing. There were two, maybe three people immediately chasing him, from the sound of their footsteps. Laupede legs were no longer doing the job. After chucking the remaining few in the general direction of the advancing party, he equipped his trusty spellbook, brandishing it threateningly.

It did not have the desired effect, and his pursuers only looked at him oddly for a brief moment, then continued chasing him as if nothing had happened.

He had a plentiful supply of tripeed seeds, which would work if he knew how to use them, but firecrackers…

He didn't need to be a ranger to use those.

Mad cackling filled the corridor as he pulled out a generous handful. Firecrackers, he had stocked up on. Several times over. They made for very dramatic entrances. The spiritmaster set and dropped the explosive, giggling at the sounds of chaos that followed the resulting bang.

The next firecracker nearly went off in his hand, reminding him to stay focused. Behind him, his pursuers were recovering from the first diversion and calling for reinforcements. Not good, not good. Even if they weren't particularly threatening in small numbers, getting chased by a large group of anything was generally nonconductive to clean getaways. He chucked another firecracker over his shoulder for good measure.

Strangely, as he ran, he noticed that more and more of the doors that he passed were closed. No longer hearing footsteps, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The firecrackers seemed to have temporarily scared the chasers off. In fact, he realized, the building now seemed completely vacant. He hadn't seen another face since the not-researcher he had almost plowed down earlier.

A large blue chose that moment to leap out in front of him, arms spread as if sheer intimidation would stop him-and had Rid been on the offensive, it likely would have. However, it was pretty hard to intimidate someone out of running for their Aion-forsaken life, no matter how immortal they may be.

Though that still left the matter of the large body blocking his path.

Time to change directions.

The blue behemoth (who wasn't actually as tall so much as wide and blubbery) lunged towards him, but Rid ducked easily under the slow, clumsy arm. The man stumbled and grunted something that sounded like a curse. Even at a near-full sprint, Rid stuck his tongue out, feeling like he was owed some small amount of glory for his graceful victory.

He squeaked as a bruising force suddenly wrapped hard around his throat as his forward motion stopped abruptly, yanking him backwards as his feet flew out beneath him. The steely hand gripping the back of his collar held fast, pulling him roughly into a pair of arms that wrapped around his neck with snake-like intent.

"He has explosives!" someone behind him shouted.

Yes. Yes he did. Irideon turned his head as much as he could, looked the stranger in the eye, and gave him a manic smile. He held up his sparkling firecracker.

"DRAMATIC EXIT!"

The cracker hit the floor with a flash and a multicolored bang. Stunned, the man released his hold, and Rid dropped lightly to the ground. More curses sounded, but the daeva was already speeding full tilt down the hallway.

Thank you, general goods merchant, he thought as he readied another. Once the stupid strangers realized they were harmless, he would be in trouble, but for now he had never been gladder to have packed away three thousand of them.

He chucked three behind him at once, for the heck of it. It was just like running from the balaur, except that these folks didn't shoot fire or cannons at him. Which made it kind of fun, since there was something innately satisfying about getting chased by a giant mob, as inconvenient as it was.

Presently, he became aware of a rhythmic thwack thwack thwacking overhead, outside the building. The strangeness of it caught him off guard. His first thought was that something was horribly, horribly wrong with the dredgion.

His second thought was that it couldn't be a dredgion; they wouldn't bomb their own complex, unless the dredgion wasn't allied with the strangers. He rejected the idea almost immediately. The Strangers were not shrieking and diving for cover, so they had to know that the dredgion wasn't going to launch an aerial assault on the whole building. That meant that the ship had to be carrying weapons or reinforcements, probably both. Or waiting for him to escape, like an assassin in the grass. Or like a dredgion parked above the building, possibly monitoring all the exits and sending in swarms of actual fighters that were about to make his life really, really difficult.

It wasn't a far-fetched comparison.

The relatively peaceable relative silence that he had been enjoying came to a very certain halt when he heard a stampede- and it was indeed a stampede, albeit one that was- alright, so maybe it wasn't a stampede in the brax sense but it definitely was one in the "I accidentally teleported into Beluslan Fortress and now they're all coming to murder me" sense. Unlike the bumbling Strangers, their presumed reinforcements sounded much more organized. He sighed. Organized stampedes were always so much worse.

He raced to the nearest door and pushed at the lever, but it stayed stuck fast. With increasing urgency, he tried the next and the one after, with the same results. Judging from the sounds reverberating down through the ceiling, the number of dredgions overhead had at some point increased from one to three and, oddly enough, they all seemed to be having the same engine trouble, thwackathwackathwackaing away rather than gliding ominously like they were supposed to.

Locked doors were bad, bad, bad. Open..., he begged silently, moving to the next door. Open...open sesame…

Two doors later, he felt a soft click under his hand. After glancing at the firecrackers he was gripping, he made a split second decision and, instead of entering the room, tore into his cube, rifling through the compartments as quickly as he could.

A small group of people whose aggressive posture indicated a shared goal of his immediate demise rounded the corner. Identical black suits of unidentified light armor adorned each one, the style bizarre and clumpy looking and of no recognizable design. The reinforcements, it seemed, had arrived- and they were ready to rumble. Rid felt a small bit of pride. The strangers had thought him concerning enough to send in an advanced squad.

A shot pinged off and embedded itself into the wall behind him.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!"


	4. In Which Outremus Meets an Odd Daeva

In a land far away from the one in which a misinformed Atreian daeva was having a showdown with a SWAT team, Agent Outremus worked on puzzling out the new development that had presented itself. Versetti's lips were drawn in a taut line.

"I don't like it, 'Remus. The centurion that went to check out Doria's report said the same thing. Besides the journal, none of them saw anything, but they said the whole place feels off."

"All of Balaurea feels off," Outremus said with a frown. Versetti nodded.

"I know. Normally I wouldn't worry about that part, but earlier reports say that it's not the first time something strange has been noticed. Daevas have been mentioning a disturbance in the aether and feeling a sense of foreboding for months now. Mages, rangers, and some priests have been requesting transfers almost as soon as they get assigned." Versetti paused to make a face. "The Outpost just never put their paperwork together well enough to notice a pattern until we looked into it."

"That's nothing novel," the Agent remarked flatly, thoroughly unsurprised. "The research journal- you're sure it belongs to your missing spiritmaster?"

"Without a doubt. It even had the message he was sent to deliver tucked in the back of it. I know he drops things, but there's something about this whole situation that's been making me uneasy since the start."

It didn't take long for Outremus to catch on- over the years, he'd learned to read General Versetti as if he was one of his own spellbooks. "And you want me to help you investigate this further? If you need daevas, you need only ask. I can't spare the whole of Inggison's forces to go on a wild goose chase, but I'm sure I could—"

"You'll find that won't be necessary," a new voice interrupted. Both Versetti and Outremus turned to face the source. Striding up the hall with confidence and an air of authority was a tall, slim mage that Outremus could have sworn he'd never seen before.

"My name is Illumis. I apologize for the interruption," the new arrival declared, not sounding very apologetic at all despite having interrupted a private discussion between two of the highest ranking leaders in Inggison. "We've not been acquainted. I am a researcher from Levinshor, summoned here to assist in the investigation on the behalf of Kaisinel's Wings."

Outremus's eyebrows would have shot up, had he not kept his expression carefully schooled. "Arieluma, daeva. I was actually not aware that the Empyrean Lord had taken an interest in the disappearance here in Inggison."

The researcher didn't bat an eye, gliding easily into their circle. "You are correct. However, a large aetheric abnormality had caught Lord Kaisinel's attention, and I was ordered to work alongside Agent Outremus to determine its root. The Empyrean Lord has granted me his personal seal as proof of my legitimacy."

While Versetti was examining the seal, Outremus folded his arms and studied the researcher. The daeva was tall, but Outremus was taller. Illumis returned the gaze evenly. Nonplussed, Outremus took his time, taking in the daeva's violet mudslime robes and well-kept appearance. At the very least, he had good taste, though that said nothing for his supposed skillset.

Actually, now that Outremus really looked, he had a niggling thought that he might have crossed paths with the daeva before, perhaps at the teleport or-

Illumis fixed him with a piercing azure glare.

No, Outremus had made a mistake. It was a bit odd, but even in the relative closeness of the Balaurean frontier, without a doubt, he and the Levinshor daeva had never met.

"The journal itself is unimportant," Illumis said, breaking eye contact to look at Versetti, as if he had simply lost interest in Outremus. "Lord Kaisinel is confident the Balaur had no part in the disturbance. I will proceed to the Outpost to make my initial observations there, and when the Agent joins me, we will commence a full investigation."

Having found the seal to be in order, Versetti handed it back and nodded at Outremus, who was now finding himself the victim of a mounting headache.

"The seal checks out, so if that's the case, then I've done all I can here. If you find anything concrete about Irideon, I'll call off the search. In the meantime, I'll tell the centurions to keep everyone out of the Forest of Antiquity. If something did really happen there, the last thing we'd want is some hapless fool wandering into it."

"Prudent," the researcher affirmed, beating Outremus to a reply. The agent fixed Versetti with a look of betrayal. "I look forward to a timely rendezvous."

As suddenly as he had entered, the researcher turned on his heel and strolled out, radiating unspoken confidence that his orders would be followed. After watching him leave in a brief moment of stunned silence as they recovered from the abruptness, Versetti rubbed his chin.

"Hey, 'Rem," he remarked, brows furrowed. "We've never met that daeva before, have we?"

No, they hadn't, Outremus had never been more sure of it. "If Lord Kaisinel felt a disturbance, I can understand his interest. It wouldn't be the first time he's sent us a stranger." He briefly recalled the instance when Lord Kaisinel had sent them a Daeva that claimed to be a time traveler from an alternate dimension...or something. Outremus hadn't asked questions.

Versetti coughed. "Can't say I envy you. That scholar walked all over you like you were a purple prolix rug." That prompted the other to fold his arms.

"Versetti, I wouldn't be Empyrean Lord's agent if I couldn't deal with difficult personalities," Outremus said flatly, purposefully ignoring the Brigade General's comment. That prompted a low whistle from his companion.

"What?" Outremus leveled, silently daring the Wisplight to make another sly remark. Versetti raised a thick white eyebrow.

"I just didn't think anyone was bold enough to say it." He grinned cheekily. It was a look Outremus hated. "Have fun with your new partner. Keep me updated if you find anything or need to revitalize your ego."

"I'm known for my patience as much as I am for my discipline. But keep pressing me, Versetti, and it'll be the end of our mutual favors."

At that, Versetti laughed. "Fine, fine. I'll be good," he said with a wave as he turned to leave, brogans clanking as he departed. "Don't forget about my legionary."

Outremus snorted. "There's no way I that could, even if I wanted to. Faith and arms."

The moment Versetti had gone, the man's brief reprieve was cut short by an the arrival of an express shugo. With an internal groan, Outremus accepted the letter and sent the shugo away, huffing a silent "What now?"

_Sender: Illumis, Kaisinel's Wings Special Officer_

Outremus wasn't liking this already.

_Recipient: Outremus, Kaisinel's Agent_

_I will be making use of Inggison's technological resources as needed to determine the cause of the disturbance. You will find all necessary permissions enclosed. I anticipate your timely arrival._

_Faith and Arms_

Outremus rolled up the letter, rubbed his temples, tried not to think about lost generator parts, and prayed this would be over soon.

x.x

Rid had made a great many bad decisions in his life, the least of which included poking the great sleeping Padmarashka, barreling full speed through the Indratu barracks in only his nightclothes, and substituting hasia for griffonia in an army supply batch of life elixir. As he raised his arms, the greater running scroll and greater anti-shock scroll disintegrated, fluttering to the floor in ashy petals. He was not about to let surrendering now become another.

With his hands still in the air, he waved at the squad facing him. "It's been lovely, folks," he said, flashing them a lopsided smile. "Next time we'll do lunch."

Then, without waiting for them to come up with a snarky reply, he stepped backward into the cell and slammed the door shut. Wishing he could fear the armored reinforcements into little purple Bobs, or better yet have Bob the fire spirit himself, he leaned against the door to keep it shut as the attackers shouted some kind of threat from the other side. His attention was not on them; it was on sorting frantically through his cube, pulling scrolls and potions out as fast as he could and stuffing them under his belt for instant access. Rid braced against the metal and dug his heels in, downed one of his strongest heal-over-time potions, yanked a handful of scrolls out, checked them, then shoved them harshly back in as he searched for the ones he needed.

He didn't have magic, but that didn't mean he couldn't get creative.

Meanwhile, the reinforcements had gotten bored with threatening him politely. Before he could finish packing his belt, the door was flung open with full force, sending him flying into the wall opposite. He landed sprawled on the floor and scrambled madly to get up as the enemy combatants flooded into the room. Their weapons didn't look anything like gunslinger pistols or aether cannons, but from the way their wielders were holding them, he assumed that they hurt just the same. As he stared down the barrels of more guns than he cared to count, he wondered if this place wasn't so different from home after all.

They still seemed to want him to surrender, but this room had a window and Rid had decided already that he would rather take his chances making a break for it than make a liar out of himself. The thwacking of the dredgions sounded louder from next to the window, and though he couldn't turn and look, there seemed to be quite a commotion outside. The armed people continued shouting as he backed away from the door, becoming more and more aggressive with each moment Rid ignored their demands. When his shoulder bumped into the cool surface of the window, he drew his arm forward and smashed it back against the glass as hard as he could.

An intense pain shot through his arm as glass shattered and exploded into thousands of tiny pieces. As a result, his elbow wasn't going to be much use in the immediate future, but it gave him just enough time to set off his second anti-shock scroll before throwing himself backwards out of the shattered opening. His costume's wide wings caught for a horrifying moment, leaving him hanging halfway out of the building with no defenses. The squad leader lunged. Rid pushed against the sharp edge of the window with both hands and twisted. There was a snap as the costume broke.

Granules of glass fell with him as the familiar feeling of weightlessness took hold. Daevas didn't learn how to fly without learning how to fall, but even with experience falling was Serious Business. Rid counted swiftly and silently in his head as the ground got bigger and bigger.

One, two, C, D,not yet, not yet, eight, not yet…

The gray stone grew worryingly close. Rid reached into his aether for the familiar brightness of his wings. His gut, throat, ribs and heart twisted all at once.

He suddenly felt painfully starving and hollow and empty like he hadn't been in a long, long time.

These people hadn't taken his feathers, too, they couldn't have, it wasn't possible and oh the ground was _right there hello ground nice da-_

Maybe it was the sudden urgency of coming face to face with another full body splat, maybe his extra soul reaching had paid off, but one moment he was about to connect roughly with something that was decidedly harder than grass and the next his fall was postponed as he sailed forth on wobbly wings through the air. Immediately he scrambled to land any way other than horizontally as his wings threatened to disintegrate.

Luckily, he'd slowed his fall enough for him to get out with minor injuries (though he could swear the ground was more vicious here, concrete aside). He dug around for a minor life potion, downed it, and dropped the bottle back in his cube. Glancing up, he saw one of the armored reinforcements watching him from the window, reporting into a little black box. Time to skedaddle.

The adrenaline from his running scroll was still having an effect. He had landed behind a gigantic, boxy, souped-up wagon, which granted him temporary cover from the guards who would be arriving _very shortly_. There was a very small gap between the floor of the box and the ground.

He spent a few precious seconds contemplating how he would go about solving this next problem. It was a tricky situation for a daeva to be in.

_Ah ha._

—


	5. In Which Food Poisoning is Likely

The metal wagon seemed to have grown to the size of a small mountain, from the perspective of his newly foot-tall, green, legless self. Rid took a second to catch his breath, already feeling a whole lot better about his situation. Nobody would kill a mookie, they were too cute, with their stubby, fingerless arms and round button eyes and lack of mouth and lower limbs. Stabbing strangers in the heart for being on the opposing side of a decision made thousands of years before either stabber or stabbee was born was one thing, but mookie-squashing, plant pulverizing, cold-hearted cactus killing, that was just pure _evil_. Mookie squashers were ice-blooded thugs. If living with Ael had taught him anything, it was that cuteness could and should be weaponized at every given opportunity. Not only did the mookie candy give him a dose of A grade adorability, it was also an excellent disguise. After all, they were looking for a full sized daeva on the run. Not a bouncing photosynthesizer. He gave himself a victory point for his ingenuity.

Quickly, he bolted into the safety of the shadows beneath the metal transporter. He hopped down the length of it and sped out the other side, ducked under the next one, then the next, and so on. It worked beautifully. The wagons had been conveniently stored in neat little lines and he found himself out of range of the enemy with little trouble at all. From his safer position farther away from the enemy, he could see that the machines he thought were dredgions were not of the same breed as the draconic ships he was accustomed to seeing in Balaurea or the Abyss. These flying craft were much, much smaller and had a completely different shape. Spinning things that looked like a lot of fun kept them aloft. The harsh outlines of their alien lights made him feel safer. At least he knew he wasn't dealing with enemies with night vision, like the Asmodians. They would have thought the lights to be both stupid and unnecessary.

Perhaps, he'd found a new subtype of Reians. Or Reian like people, since these beings clearly weren't Reians and Siel had only died once as far as he knew. Feeling inspired, he took off in a straight line, plunging headfirst into the unknown. He'd find a good place to kisk, try not to get killed, explore the new society, maybe grab something to eat and then find his way home once he got bored or got murdered one too many times.

And he needed to figure out what was wrong with this place. Because something was very wrong. It was like a mission. Mission Mode. Focus.

Outremus would need notes. If he had a mouth, Rid would have grinned.

Outremus would need notes on _everything._

_x.x_

Meanwhile, a young, unfortunate, failing engineering student by the name of Wesley Visto was going about one of those Murphy's mornings, struggling to keep a smile on as hot coffee dripped under his sleeve. He could not find his car keys, and he cursed whatever law of the universe deemed this day to be improbably terrible.

x.x

Irideon did not have to travel far before he realized that this strange place was not very safe, at least in terms of running from point A to point who-knows-where. In the span of less than two hundred meters, he had nearly gotten flattened twice by the strange metal wagons. There were more metal wagons to be found on a single path than there were balaur in the Noschana Training Camp- and that was ridiculous, because he had once ended up being chased by _all _of them and he knew precisely how many there were.

There was simply no end to these traveling contraptions, and he couldn't fathom in any way shape or form why or where they could be going in such number. To make matters more complicated, they travelled in both directions, and sometimes turned off (as far as he could see) and on to the main path. If one wagon jammed, the entire path was upset and the route was temporarily changed. (He observed this after bolting onto the path, and turning back to find that one wagon had struck the back of another, damaging both vehicles and ensuing much shouting).

He had yet to see a single teleporter, formatted garrison patrol, or flight transport. Very stiff dragon-like behemoths rocketed through the skies intermittently in addition to the occasional spinny one, but he spotted no dredgions of any familiar make. While some of the wagons made a horrible noise and boasted flashy fancy lights, he had yet to see a single weapon. A small number of not-Elyos milled around the side of the path, many of them looking sleepy, grumpy, or both.

Rid filed this away to write down later, in detail.

His first priority was finding somewhere to set up camp, hunker down, figure out his situation and organize his next plan of action. At the very least, he needed a safe home base.

x.x

If Wesley's day got any worse, he thought he might have an all-out breakdown.

Wesley Visto had left his apartment at seven-thirty four. He had needed to leave at seven twenty, but he was habitually unpunctual and this didn't come as a surprise to anyone, including himself.

At seven thirty eight, he was walking out the door of his building and heard a nearby crash, followed by a tumble, and thought nothing of it.

At seven forty two, Wesley Visto realized that he had forgotten his phone, turned to go back to his apartment and get it, and saw his brand new IKEA desk lamp take a nosedive out the window.

He watched in horrified silence as the desk lamp was followed by his IKEA desk stool, then his IKEA desk organizer, and finally, with some difficulty, the IKEA desk itself.

Wesley Visto bolted back to the building as fast as his short legs could carry himself. Before his brain could stop him, he had thrown the door open and caught sight of the horrible scene before him.

On the opposite side of the living room, the window had been thrown open. A chair was stuck halfway through it, obviously having gotten jammed during the attempted defenestration. Shredded white wallpaper was strewn throughout; the walls now boasting a badly applied green wallpaper instead. Unfamiliar furniture had sprouted like mushrooms to replace that which had been thrown out into the alley, sitting alongside a dozen or so burning candles that had taken up haphazard residence on the floor, looking for all intents and purposes like a component of a demon summoning ritual. His chess trophies, books, video games, and projects had been shoved into a pile and pushed to the side.

Inexplicably, there were several potted plants scattered throughout the room. Some looked exotic, and expensive, but many were downright uninspired. A large statue of an angel and a statue of a pair of wings that he _knew _he didn't own sat awkwardly in the center of the room. If he didn't know better, Wesley would have thought the wing statue was vying for attention. It was a very strange thought.

Most concerningly out of the whole mess, there was a cosplayer he'd never met in his life, in his kitchen making what had to be the world's largest, thickest scrambled egg. Over a dozen tiny eggshells lay strewn across the countertop. Some of them had fallen onto the floor to be smashed by sandal-clad feet.

Unable to process all of this information, Wesley stared open mouthed at the disaster. For some unfathomable reason, only his cardboard cutouts remained untouched. His computer, his television, clothes, chairs, even his rugs had been thrown into the pile. He shuddered to think of what had gotten jettisoned out the window.

"I think it turned out to be more of a cake, really," the cosplayer said, moving the tall, cylindrical egg from side to side in the pan, inspecting it from various angles. It was as tall as three pancakes stacked on top of each other. Curious fork tines prodded it from one side, making it jiggle a little. "It was supposed to be an omelette, but something went wrong between the here and the there and it's a bit too late to try and fix it now. Uncooking never was my forte, useful as it can be."

Wesley silently picked up the wing statue he had passed, moving swiftly behind the home intruder. If this stranger thought he could break into his home and Wesley would just take it- he was in for a rude awakening.

"Oh well," the intruder sighed. "I don't even have anything to put in it anyway. The last of the kukuru that I'd stolen from the thieving Lepharists was used to make hats for the Revel last autumn. I think it was a huge mistake, and a waste of a good squash. I could've had hats for Solorious, too, if I'd rationed them better- what do you think? Do you like hats? You look like you don't much- you haven't got one on."

With a resigned huff, the cosplayer cut the egg patty in half, plucking one two-inch-thick, rubbery yellow semicircle out of the pan. It didn't smell right. The stench coming off of it was oily and rubbery, and reminded Visto of burning tires.

"Ignoring the fact that _I _haven't got one on at the moment, either. That was because of very special circumstances- I nearly lost it once today already. Or was that yesterday? I lost my place in the week. Though, one can never have too many jack-o-lantern heads, I made sure of that. Never mind the pants. Nobody will ever again see me in forest green leggings and a gigantic hat with neck leaves; I think I traumatized _myself_ more than anybody else, and that's saying something."

While the house breaker was rattling on, Visto made good use of this time and raised the (surprisingly light) stone pillar. As the intruder turned to face him, Wesley gave the pillar a hearty swing. The pan went flying one direction as the home intruder ducked. At the same time, the eggy thing sailed through the air, exploding into chunks as it hit the floor.

"Oi! That was breakfast, you braxhead! I would have been all too _happy_ to share, all you needed to do was ask. Now you've ruined it and it's all over the floor and now it's not good for anybody."

Before Wesley could blink, the intruder had scooped the eggs off the floor and _pocketed them_, mumbling something to them as he did so. Once this task was complete, he looked at Wesley with bright and optimistic eyes.

"Don't worry, I packed three stacks, don't ask why because I don't even know either. Ae is always asking what happens to all my space- well there, there have you. It's all miscellaneous cooking supplies. I _knew _they'd come in handy! And I don't even _cook_, she said. And that may be true. But I can still make a mean inina."

For several long seconds, Wesley didn't know what to do. He'd been expecting the intruder to get knocked cold, like in the movies. Certainly, he hadn't been expecting the stranger to dodge. Or stand there removing _literally dozens _of tiny eggs from a teeny tiny box, talking away as if he hadn't just been attacked with a Grecian statue. Wesley stepped back as the intruder lightly commented that he should have used a hat stand. Belatedly, Visto realized that his first order of business really _should_ have been to call the police and never end up in this mess, and oh why hadn't he done so earlier when he'd first remembered it? Shortly after he had this realization, the stranger bounced up to full height and proclaimed,

"Oh! I almost forgot! My apologies for not using a hat stand."

_What's the big deal with the hatstand?_ Wesley thought, dumbstruck. This high priority observation turned out to be his last, because moments later a large log came arcing through the air literally out of _nowhere_. Pain exploded in his head and he heard a solid impact, and then, true to his string of bad luck that morning, the unfortunate Wesley Visto was dead to the world.

x.x

When Outremus arrived at the Outpost, he found Illumis already waiting for him.

"I've set up aether monitors along the perimeter of the forest," the researcher said immediately, failing to so much as look up from the scroll in his lap to acknowledge Outremus. "What remnants there are of the aetheric field here have managed to make themselves even more volatile than normal. I suggest we make haste."

In one smooth motion, Illumis cubed the scroll and stood, impeccably groomed despite having spent a good amount of time in the rough and tumble world of the Outpost. A lone klaw scuttled past in the corner of Outremus's eye, and he briefly wondered if there was any merit to the whispers of an underground klaw breeding ring here. A number of the daevas shuffled nervously upon catching sight of the Agent, some of them straightening suddenly and one even appearing to hide something behind her back. He gave an eye roll, with the faintest hint of a smile. As long as they were effective, they could have their fun.

"Doria will show us to the site. I'm sure the wildlife will pose no threat to us, so I took the liberty of dismissing our escort to minimize distractions," the spiritmaster strode past Outremus, heading for the main entrance. Pulled out of his thoughts, Outremus trailed him numbly, only belatedly trying to understand _why _exactly he was listening to this researcher. Illumis's possession of the Seraphim Lord's seal did muddy the chain of command.

"Illumis!" Outremus nearly winced as the high pitched squeal assaulted his ears, but he masked his reaction well.

"Doria," Illumis greeted cordially, slowing his stride the slightest bit. It was the first time Outremus had seen the spiritmaster be anything even resembling amiable.

The blonde scholar skidded to a stop in front of Illumis, a tray of something that appeared to be _bubbling _held tightly in her grip. "Thank goodness you hadn't left yet. Since the ksellid dumplings didn't go as well as I'd hoped, I decided to try using some of the local fauna instead. It was tricky, but I managed to get ahold of some spaller meat- will you tell me how this one is?"

Doria was known all across Balaurea for her culinary monstrosities. Rumor had it that eating one of her dishes had even turned an unfortunate volunteer's face black. Yet another had gone into a coma. That one, Outremus knew for sure wasn't a rumor, since he had helped direct the medical staff.

To his mounting horror, Illumis plucked one of the burbling gray morsels and popped it in his mouth before Outremus had a chance to stop him. He chewed slowly, and thoughtfully, while the Agent's gut twisted in all kinds of directions from just watching the catastrophe unfold. Illumis swallowed.

"The meat is poorly textured and the rich flavors should be paired with a sweet mela or a neutral grain instead of a salty breading. While the smoked aftertaste is satisfactory and gives the dish a rewarding finish, I find the greasiness of the meat too repulsive to appreciate it. A lesser balic meat could be what you're looking for. As flawed as it is, it is an improvement over the last attempt."

Outremus watched open-mouthed as Illumis gave his critique. The color seemed to slide out of his already pale skin until it had turned the same shade of white as his hair. The man took no apparent notice, even when large, angry looking red blotches appeared across his cheeks and forehead. Doria's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh- oh, Illumis, I'm so sorry!" Dumplings went sliding to the ground as she cast the tray aside and started rummaging in her cube for a general antidote. Foul-smelling, fizzing holes burned into the ground where they landed. "I didn't think they would do that, I just have the worst luck- I think that wasn't a good recipe for the spaller meat. I thought the heat would neutralize any poisons-!"

The special officer was oblivious as his lips turned as blue as ervio petals. The hue quickly spread to the rest of his face, overtaking the pasty white, making him look vaguely Asmodian. He turned away from Doria's offered antidote without so much as acknowledging it.

"Outremus undoubtedly has orders he must attend to, and there is nothing more to be gained here. Show us to the site, Doria, and try not to be too tempted by the wildlife on the way."

The fumbling scholar nodded, replacing the antidote uncertainly. "O-of course. My apologies, Outremus. Let's get going."

With that, Illumis strode off, Doria trailing on his heels. Outremus shook his head in amazement and followed after the two daevas, watching Illumis closely in case the special officer suddenly dropped to the ground, dead from spaller poisoning. The daeva swayed twice, then proceeded on his path as if nothing was amiss.


End file.
